Winds of Torsham (The Kohrinju Tai Saga Book 2)

by J P Nelson

  “The exercise will be vexing to the muscles and a test of your nerve …” Jann Raul smiled his now famous smile, “… but if you relish a challenge, it is exhilarating as well.”

  G’Tabb whispered in awe, “Thirty knots …”

  Redding wanted to know, “There is no record of such a, such a flume anywhere. How is this possible?”

  With a shrug and slow shake of his head Jann Raul replied, “I do not know how, I only know the what of it.” He passed a humorous glance to his pop and added, “As a great story teller I know likes to say, ‘I do not write the tale, I just spin it.”

  Sark asked, “By what means will you know where to leave this flume?”

  “The same point Mitchell will be seeking on his map. There is a tall piece of rock, not big enough to be an island, really, and it is on the map as last reference point from Sonch Island to Presittorn Isle. It will be to our starboard and right off the flume. The area has been surrounded by mist, but the top rises perhaps a hundred feet.”

  He looked to his father and added, “I can only guess, but I believe there is a volcano far below who is waking up, that mist is quite warm.”

  Redding asked, “How do you know he is coming that way?”

  “Because Sonch is where he was headed when you lost him in the storm. It is only populated by a small village, but he could easily hide a vessel such as the Luscious in their cove, and take water and food while those unfamiliar with these waters may never venture close, and it is on James John’s map.” He started to say more, then stopped …

  Bachi quipped, “What, Mister Jha’Ley? Speak.”

  “If you had known where you were going, you would not have chased him in circles as you did. Sonch is the only place in that stretch of the Georgian’s where you could resupply without sailing north, which you did not do. You returned to Sherrils. If you had gone to Sonch you could have waited for him and taken him there.”

  G’Tabb scratched the stubble on his chin and commented to Bachi, but it was obvious the comment was directed at the commodore, “Perhaps we should have had Mister Jha’Ley aboard sooner …”

  Old Uncle could not resist an emphatic, “Aye-e-e!”

  Sark asked, “And what of this flume? Is it on the map?”

  “No sir.” The youth grinned a mischievous grin. “I plan to take advantage of the fact. You see, if you aren’t prepared for it, it could capsize a vessel upon entry. The Luscious will have to cross the jet stream to reach their destination. If she hits it broadside, I do not lend her much hope.”

  “Why is there no mention of this flume anywhere, no warnings have been given among the islanders, and they knew we were giving chase …”

  Albri answered in a dry manner while still glaring at his son, “Because, my good commodore, this flume is something new … and there is no reason to sail south, therefore no ship would have encountered it … at least, none of which we are aware.”

  He fidgeted with his sword grip as his scientist’s mind was working, “I wonder if the flume has anything to do with the quake we had last year …”

  Bachi added his own question, “The two occurrences could suggest a fault-line which may be opening, would it not?”

  Albri considered the thought, then turning to the commander they became lost in their own conversation.

  Sark could not help a mischievous smile of his own, “Do not become cocky, Mister Jha’Ley, this launch may be our undoing.” To the others he declared, “Gentlemen, we best rest. We have an engagement before us.” Then he leaned back and after a while, closed his eyes and fell to sleep.

  Jann Jha’Ley relaxed into his chore and looked into the heavens. He had the wheel of his craft in hand, felt the wake made by his bow and took in the sound of the waves and smell of the salt spray. This was his calling, this was the life he was born to.

  Watching the commodore sleep, his father lost in scientific conversation with Bachi and two of the crew, and Old Uncle staring forward of their course, the pilot was happy. The Sangora had already been well stocked with food and water for his previously planned voyage. The next few hours should go by without incident.

  ___________________________

  It was in the dead of night and the air crystal clear when they achieved the first part of their course. From only rods away the flume could not be seen, but it could be heard. All were ready as the Sangora was firm in the water one instant, then over a swell and fully airborne the next.

  Three times prior Jann Raul had made this entry, the first time by accident which nigh cost him his life. Each time it felt as if his stomach had dropped out of the body. This time was no different.

  The sudden impact of the vessel striking water and the violence of the churning current jarred every soul to their core. Old Uncle’s yell of jubilation could barely be heard over the roaring sound of the flume, and the abnormal force of the wind tore at the sails. As the mast timber groaned, Jann Raul was not the only one to be concerned; full sails may not have been a good idea.

  But the Sangora held fast as her pilot straightway found a current to ride. An unknowing observer may have thought the vessel to sail fairly straight and true, but the man behind the wheel was in a constant state of combat with forces beneath and above. Although wind and water were moving in same direction, it was as if they were at war with one another.

  Playing the rudder every moment, it was simply too much for Jann Raul to command his crew to constant adjustments of sail. G’Tabb seized the situation and instructed, “Keep me abreast of your movement and I will guide the lads!”

  For four hours the eleven men aboard the Sangora made strong their efforts. If not working the sails, they were bailing water. The man at the wheel, however, never removed his hand, nor turned his mind from his chore, not once. Interception with the Luscious was for the moment forgotten. Each man-jack on this tossed boat placed their fate in Jann Raul’s skill.

  Night gave way to morning twilight, and then the thin beginnings of mist. Soon it was as if they were in a heavy, but low-lying fog with the mingled smell of salt, sulfur and what could be described as rotting flesh.

  Albri was next to Jann Raul when the son exclaimed to his father, “This is new, pop, it has not smelled like this before.”

  Before a reply could be given, one of the crewmen suddenly pointed forward and to the starboard-side yelling, “The rock top, it is before us!”

  Jann Raul prepared himself for his next action and yelled to G’Tabb, “I am going to tack starboard up the side part-way, then sling-shot across the flume, port-side, and climb the swell over and out.”

  The sailing master nodded understanding and turned to call orders when just beyond the rock and out of the mist came the bowsprit of the Luscious … over the starboard swell … lanterns aflame … and as the schooner vaulted at an angle into the flume on a collision course with the Sangora the frantic yells from both vessels could be heard as one.

  Chapter 8

  JANN RAUL COULD see the entire underbelly of the Luscious as he steered port as hard as he dared, yet in danger of certain death he kept his wits. The schooner came down without majesty at an angle sailing into the flume. The Sangora collided into the bigger ship’s stern, just port of its rudder, and continued halfway along the side with shuddering impact. Had the smaller vessel been rigged with a square sail, the yardarm would have been shattered and forward power lost.

  Upon collision Commodore Sark, Old Uncle and a crewman were slammed into the cabin as another crewman went overboard. Albri caught the crewman’s leggings as he went over and Redding immediately grabbed too, together bringing him back aboard.

  Shouts from above could be heard, but in speech not understood as a crossbow bolt sunk deep into the wood at the pilot’s feet.

  Jann Raul had presence of mind to register the Luscious was only at half sail, at best, and the tone of the language used by the crew revealed his hope, that the flume was truly of complete surprise.

  Yelling his course of action to the sa
iling master, he used the collision to rebound from the larger hull in an attempt to tack port and slingshot forward of the schooner. Quick escape was the plan of action, and in this torrent of air current there would be no stealing the wind, either vessel over the other.

  While speed was established, Jann Raul wished to keep the advantage. He was under no delusions, Mitchell was a canny man and his crew well seasoned to the sea. It would be a short matter of time before they rectified their condition … and most likely give them chase. To be in front as far as possible, then to escape the flume was imperative.

  The maneuver was working … tack to port as yet another bolt hit the hull, partway up the swell but not enough momentum to crest, then back down in a starboard tack and cresting the schooner’s heading and just starboard of her bowsprit.

  A quick look back revealed the Luscious lurching in the convoluted current and falling behind. Up ahead, Jann Raul knew he could …

  Commodore Sark was suddenly beside him with an order, “Take care, we can’t lose him. You… must… slow… down!”

  At that moment Albri grabbed Sark and shoved Jann Raul as a hand-sized ball of light whizzed past, knocking a spoke and part of the rim off of the wheel and continuing to hit a corner of the cabin, blowing that portion to bits. From the deck, the two men glanced at each other, then to their pilot and said in unison, “Faster, sail faster!”

  Again seizing the wheel, Jann Raul yelled again to G’Tabb, “Tacking starboard up, slingshot port and out …”

  Another white ball of light whizzed by, hitting Redding in the hand as he reached for a clew of the main sail. Bits of burned flesh and bone rained upon deck as his arm was removed to his shoulder.

  Old Uncle took aim with one of his harpoon-loaded crossbows. As the Sangora ran up the starboard swell, the old captain fired his weapon.

  Jann Raul yelled out, “This is going to be rough …” as he tacked hard to the port swell for the drive up and over. G’Tabb was calling orders to maximize the sails when yet another ball of light burned the left side of his face, removing the hair above the ear yet not removing the flesh, continuing into the belly of a crewman to exit his spine.

  Another glance back revealed the bigger ship was getting into the flow of the flume, proving someone was a master of their craft, and the sails were opening to their maximum efficiency.

  Although the outer swells rolled away from the flume, a severe counter-current made it difficult to climb the water, as if a back-wave across the top was adamant in keeping anything within the flume from getting out.

  At the crest of the swell it felt for a moment the Sangora would not make it, the added thrust of the sails not enough to compensate for the added weight of the extra ten men. Just as she seemed to drop back, the bow of the craft dipped down into the outlying water and pulled free as a friendly gust of wind added to her push.

  Working together in earnest, sailing master and pilot made the most use of wave and wind to buy as much distance as possible before the schooner found her own way from the flume. No one aboard harbored a doubt this would be so.

  Out of the flume and into the open sea, Albri came to his son and said, “Give us the course and you get down to rest, you are exhausted.”

  Likewise, G’Tabb was ordered to stand down, at least for a time. The Sangora’s damage was cosmetic in nature and her lines unaffected. The reefs were hours away and with the winds as they were blowing, they could make direct heading to Presittorn Isle.

  It was obvious a wizard or sorcerer of some merit was aboard Mitchell’s ship. Chances were, said wizard might could divine the smaller ship's direction and they would certainly give chase.

  The death of their shipmate was a tragedy and he was remembered in their flight. To be sure, he would be avenged if at all possible. As Old Uncle piloted the craft, Albri gave attention to Redding’s shoulder. The benevolence of the wound was that it was cauterized; the extent of injury was done.

  For a time it became a concern the Luscious had not escaped the flume, after all, seeing her captain brought down was the focus of this venture. In fleeing, it was hoped pursuit would be given.

  In the second hour a crewman speculated, “Is it per chance we indeed outran her?”

  There was no given answer … until beginning their fourth hour upon the open sea the tops of the schooner sails could be seen over the horizon.

  Old Uncle remarked, “Wa’ll, Meester Chako, th’ar be year ansah.”

  The mate reporting the sight from upon the main-mast called down, “Sir, I’m thinkin’ nigh on seventeen, maybe eighteen miles.”

  The commodore calculated, “And she moves at eleven to twelve knots with good wind … an-n-nd … I would say we are moving at about nine …”

  Old Uncle said, “Ah give ‘em seex hours ta kech up. Don’ be bother’un the lad, that’ll ‘bout put us at tha isle.”

  Sark glanced to his first officer, then to his commander and Albri, “We best make final determination of our plan.”

  ___________________________

  The wind held and it became obvious the schooner was making fast time. But what can one do when anticipating the inevitable? Eat, rest, prepare, pray? It is times such as these a person may look within their past and wonder the what and why of their life. All save one aboard the Sangora were seasoned fighting men. Outnumbered two to one, against a vessel three times their size, and now a wizard was in the game … a wizard already responsible for the death of one of their own, the crippling of another and the true confrontation had yet to commence.

  Many would say the odds insurmountable and the quest foolhardy. Even so it might seem, but these were men who lived by an unwritten code, a code which dictated when a job was to be done or when a need arises, those with the ability and skill to stand up to take responsibility.

  These were men who lived life to the fullest, each day an adventure to engage, not to witness from afar. Their hope this day was to reach the reefs, whereby they may have a chance to outmaneuver the other vessel and find opportunity to take the prize.

  Many are the engagements when a select few have overcome the many, and these men were resolved to do just that.

  Within three hours hard sailing the top of Presittorn Isle became visible. But the enemy had also closed half the distance. Indeed, the chase would be close. Much depended on Jann Raul’s knowledge of the unseen reefs, and his skill at the wheel.

  Maintaining a straight bearing while watching an enemy vessel slowly come up upon your stern, inch by inch, is enough to test the nerve of any man, or woman, for that matter. Some were hopeful of a storm to lend itself, but it was not to be. The heavens were glorious, sea smooth, the wind steady and strong.

  The weather gauge was clearly in favor of the Luscious as their crossbow fire would have benefit of the wind. Already men were at the bow, ready for such an opportunity.

  Jann Raul was back at the wheel when Sark stood to his side and said, “Mister Jha’Ley?! They are coming to bear, young sir … we need evasive action.”

  “A moment, sir …”

  “Jha’Ley?! They are preparing to fire!”

  Tense, but holding fast, the pilot found what he was seeking.

  “Jha’LEY?!” The commodore was adamant, “NOW!”

  Intently focused, Jann Raul glanced to his left into the waves and called out, “Master G’Tabb … on my mark hard port, three …”

  The whole world became surreal as their pursuers were lifting their weapons.

  “Two …”

  At one hundred rods and closing fast, three men on the bow of the Luscious took aim.

  “One …”

  The men of the Sangora readied their own weapons, but to fire into the wind would be to waste ammunition.

  “MISTER Jha’LEY?!”

  The adversary let fly …

  “MARK!”

  The Sangora turned hard port as those not working sail took cover from oncoming bolts. One tore through the main sail, another buried itself into a crewma
n’s arm, Jann Raul felt the burn of steel and shaft low down on his left side. As the vessel heeled leeward, Jha’Ley saw a wide shadow pass under the hull.

  In moments he heard what he hoped for, the sound of collision of wood against the reef. It sounded to be a glancing blow, but he could not see from their own sharply heeled position.

  With alarm Albri exclaimed, “Son, you’re hit!” Getting beside him, the father managed to break the shaft from its protrusion but could do nothing more as the lad called to tack hard starboard.

  As they came about, it was clear the schooner was still in pursuit. Their own crossbows fired in retaliation and from sounds of satisfaction, Jann Raul was sure score had been made, but he could not think of such things … his own chore required full attention.

  In what seemed like only moments, he called to tack again to port, once more to run before the wind. Passing glance over his left shoulder, he saw the beautiful lines of the Luscious suddenly make collision, this time rebounding between two reefs as one man fell overboard. But then she broke free. He had wished dearly, she would have been split open, or at least held fast.

  What damage, he wondered, had been done? Had she been compromised in any way? How tough could she be?

  And then a man appeared on her rail, drew back and seemed to throw something their way … Jann Raul breathed in deep … the sphere of light hit their stern and exploded, pieces of wood scattering all over … and suddenly the wheel became dead in his hand. They had blasted the rudder.

  Cold fear seized the pilot’s soul, as he knew exactly where the next reef would be. Without steerage, there was nothing he could do, absolutely nothing at all.

  Old Uncle was lining up his great crossbow with the harpoon, but he swore viciously and declared, “Jest na’ close enouh’!”